


one more beer?

by LollipopFactory



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (yet), Alcohol, Alcoholism mention, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Romance, References to Depression, probably just a oneshot but they do end up loving each other i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29045142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopFactory/pseuds/LollipopFactory
Summary: "My sister died and I didn't cry. Not even for like, a minute. I felt like such an ass. I mean, I still do. My mom cries whenever she walks past her room, and me? Nothing.”“I’m sure y-”“Did I even love her?""That's crazy," Keith scoffed, directing his focus to the empty bottle in Lance's hand. He offered him his own, half full, which Lance graciously accepted with a nod of his head. "Of course you loved her. You still love her. Just because you didn't cry- Lance, you don't have to cry to prove that you're upset. You know that, right? You don't owe that to yourself or anyone."
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	one more beer?

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first fic, so while it's short, it's something i'm proud of! i've always wanted to write fic, so lets hope this is the first of many more to come :) hope you enjoy!

"I don't think I cried that day." 

Only foamy dredges remained in his bottle of beer, yet he took a swig anyway, aching for a distraction from Keith's violating gaze. 

"Lance... You were in shock." His voice was gentle, gentler than it had ever sounded directed towards Lance. 

"My sister died and I didn't cry. Not even for like, a minute. I felt like such an ass. I mean, I still do. My mom cries whenever she walks past her room, and me? Nothing.”   
  
“I’m sure y-”   
  
“Did I even love her?"

"That's crazy," Keith scoffed, directing his focus to the empty bottle in Lance's hand. He offered him his own, half full, which Lance graciously accepted with a nod of his head. "Of course you loved her. You still love her. Just because you didn't cry- Lance, you don't  _ have _ to cry to prove that you're upset. You know that, right? You don't owe that to yourself or anyone."

He reluctantly hummed in agreement, tracing the narrow lip of the glass. Lance had always been a fidgeter. Always shaking a leg, or tapping his fingers like a drummer would. It drove Keith crazy for his rare silent pockets to be broken by Lance's invasive fussing, but he could tell now it wasn't deliberate, rather an afterproduct of his mind filtering thoughts in and out faster than he could process them. Lance pressed the pad of his thumb against the top ridges, and this seemed to satisfy his urges. Keith could tell; his leg stopped its slight bouncing against his own, which were connected, pressed lightly at the knee despite the barrier Lance had put between them. 

He wanted a hug, some sort of reassurance that wasn't purely verbal. Lance wasn't one for words, perplexing seeing as he would never shut up. Initiating contact was not in Keith's social repertoire, so he stayed put, though he didn't dare move his leg from the man who so clearly desired a friend's embrace. 

"Yeah, I mean... I know that now. I think. I don't know, my mind's all weird right now." 

Keith eyed the three empty bottles at his side, very soon to be four. "I'm cutting you off after this one." Mid-sip, Lance whined in protest. "What, you want the last one, too? If I knew you were going to drink like this, I would've gotten more than a six-pack." Keith eyed the pillow wedged between their thighs. Something about two bros touching legs  _ screamed _ homoeroticism to Lance, so the protective measure was more for the former's comfort rather than his own. "But maybe it's a good thing I didn't."

"Is a guy not allowed to drown his sorrows in alcohol? Huh, Keith?"

"That's a fast-pass to alcoholism." 

"Your  _ mom _ is a past-fass to alcoholism!" He stumbled over his own tongue, blinking wildly in retrospection. "That- that wasn't right."

"You're tipsy and sad." Keith yanked the now-empty bottle from Lance's hand, gathering the rest of the trash his dear friend accumulated on the couch onto his coffee table. He realized his offer to grab a beer so close to Lance’s sister's death anniversary was bound to end in disaster, though, perhaps he would suffer his losses just this one time. The typically sharp-tongued Keith had nothing to say to his mourning friend. 

"I've only had four!" 

"And four was clearly enough." Keith crumbled Lance's dirty Kleenex in his fist, wedging it into one of their abandoned Heniekens for later disposal. Lance was clearly not to be trusted alone for too long. Keith feared if he stepped away for even a second he'd find Lance destroying his furniture and urinating on the floor like an anxious dog. 

"My sister died and you won't even give me a single alcohol to dull the ache in my heart."

Keith flinched, whipping his head to gawk at the shameless drunk grinning wildly on his couch. "Did you just pull the 'dead sister' card? Lance, that's fucked up, even for you."

"What? You pull the 'dead dad' card all the time, and  _ I _ can't bring up my dead sister for a beer? Double standards, much?" 

"I hope you're not referring to the time I cancelled a DnD session to go visit my dad's grave."

"Yeah, yeah, call it whatever. They're double standards and you should be  _ ashamed,  _ Keith. I'm grieving!" 

Keith could not believe the audacity of this guy. Lance couldn't believe Keith had yet to relent. Despite their current bickering, trivializing his sister's death in such a manner wasn't a right Lance thought he earned. For joy to come of a tragedy, there must be pain, and Lance hadn't wallowed enough. He hadn't mourned just as the rest of his family did, sobbing and wailing from the moment they woke until dehydration and exhaustion settled in. Keith was right; he didn't owe anybody those tears, yet guilt held him in its torturous grasp. 

The more wicked offense would be desecrating her grave, but in Lance's mind, they were practically the same. 

"You're grieving," Keith echoed.

Keith hadn't cried when his dad died. Not on the day of, or any day after that. Not as a kid, at least. With his annual out-of-state visits to his dad's plot out in rural Texas, he allowed himself a tearful release, pure agony shaking his entire being into a deflated mess hung around the sturdy polished granite marking his grave. Then, that was it. No idle thoughts of his father's existence to interfere with his day-to-day, nor episodes marked by spontaneous anguish. That was too much to expect of Lance, who, prior to this loss, hadn't a single ounce of sorrow in his tall frame. 

However, his sister's death had only been the abrupt climax to his slow, miserable crawl into depressive oblivion. Keith wouldn't know Lance's 'iron pills' were actually 150mg of Zoloft, and that his joke cracking was his masterful art of deflection perfected over the course of his lifetime, and that he lived with self-hatred so fiery he feared it'd consume him one day. 

Healthy grieving was not a thing Keith had much experience with; he knew he wasn't of much help to Lance in this moment, where his grin-turned-tight-lipped-smile quivered. He came searching for comfort in the wrong apartment with the wrong person. 

Keith realized soon enough, though, watching Lance tongue the bottle entrance for bitter remnants, that comfort hadn't been what he was seeking. Keith was the only person in Lance’s life to have suffered a similar tragedy. Gaze free of pity, Keith was the only one who'd give him any sense of normality, if only for a few hours.

Lance couldn't cry.

And Keith decided, in his own act of mercy, one more beer wouldn't hurt him. 


End file.
